waxing poetic
by awintea
Summary: perfectpair // he finds the first note on his seat in the lecture hall. He picks it up, unfolds it, reads it, refolds it... And then throws it out // oneshot. holiday fic exchange - cheers, Peridot Tears!


_**Fic written for the Pointless but Original Talking Forum Holiday Fic Exchange.  
**_

**Request Number:** 09  
**Pairing/Groups:** Perfect, Platinum, Tango. Seigaku or Rikkai.  
**Squicks:** Cheesiness, but that can't be helped -shrugs-  
**What You'd Like to See:** Some romance, and a dark atmosphere. Something "smoky."  
**Gen/Het/Slash/Smut/None/All-of-the-above**?: All. I don't like too much smut, though.  
**Request:** Angst 8D -andhotstuff-  
**Beta:** Thanks to **Sweet Obsidian Rain** for the last-minute beta job xD

**Notes:** I'm sorry this didn't turn out very angsty or hot - I kind of fail, I know. I was trying to go for bittersweet, anyhow, but it ended up with a happy ending for Christmas, I guess? Cheers, Peridot Tears, and I hope you enjoy~. It's a little bit slow u____u

_**waxing poetic**_

_-_

He finds the first note on his seat in the lecture hall.

It is not actually _his_ seat, but it is always empty when he walks into the hall. The other students have come to accept that the spot, a quiet, unassuming black chair on the left of the hall, along with the quiet, unassuming black chairs in the immediate vicinity of it, are for Tezuka Kunimitsu and Tezuka Kunimitsu only. He gained a reputation for being a bit unsociable (read: borderline hermit) less than a week into med school, and has not been to a single party since stepping foot on university grounds.

Not for lack of trying on the other students' parts - though they recognise that lecture time is sacred to the ever serious Tezuka, his looks which are ranked just above stellar have garnered him quite a few invites and date offers.

Of course, all of them were refused in a very polite manner. Tezuka Kunimitsu does not 'party'. Because of this, he has not made very many friends amongst the post-secondary students, but this does not bother him. He receives calls from his old tennis team often - Oishi feels the need to check up on all of them every once in a while, and Inui seems to have decided to document the growth of Tezuka from tennis player to doctor for... well, some reason or another, while Echizen, ever impudent, just likes to call up his ex-captain whenever he's bored.

He has not joined the tennis club - he simply does not have the time, nor does he wish to try for a regular spot again which joining the club would require him to do. No, tennis is simply recreational for him now, and somewhere along the line, between junior high and now, his goals - his dreams - have changed. Becoming a doctor is important to him.

So he is surprised, on the fateful spring day, to find a folded piece of paper on his chair. He picks it up, intending to throw it out - it does not do to have garbage just lying about. It is not his intention to unfold the note, but his hands have already done the gesture by the time he realises what he is doing.

He reads it.

He folds it back up systematically.

He walks over to the nearest recycling bin and tosses it away.

_His eyes are like knives, steely and cold. His hands were empty, but that means nothing - there is more than one way to kill a man._

He finds the second note in his coat pocket two days later.

It is dinnertime. Tezuka has gone out, giving himself a day off from cooking - living alone as a student does make funds rather scarce but eating out once in a while is a necessary frivolity for him. Though he can cook adequately, he cannot match up to a proper restaurant, and thus, he finds himself at the local Western restaurant.

Tezuka eats by himself, as is his habit.

He of course puts his coat on the coat rack before being seated, and after a lovely dinner, he retrieves it.

The weather is cold, the wintry wind nipping at his bare skin. Though he cannot hide his face from the harsh temperature, he does so with his hands, slipping them into his pockets.

His right hand discovers the note. Maybe a receipt he forgot to put away (improbable), or a candy wrapper he did not throw out (impossible) - he does not know what it is and so takes it out.

The second note is folded in the same manner as the first one, a neat paper triangle with clean, crisp edges. Tezuka immediately recognises it for what it is, but his hands are once again ahead of him, the one on the left already out of his pocket and unfolding the note.

The handwriting is so familiar, the cursive beautiful and perfect, reminiscent of days long past wherein computers were not so widespread and writing was more treasured.

And at the bottom of the piece of paper, a plea, in calligraphic Japanese:

_Please don't throw this away_.

He does so anyway, at the nearest trash receptacle. He does not want to hold the note until he finds a recycling bin, for he does not know how long that would take.

_'Do you remember me?' Her voice is soft, pleading. 'Do you remember?' Her hands are clasped together, but there is no god here. Only the cruel omnipotence of mankind - cruel because man lacks the quality of omniscience._

The third note finds him, in the hands of another, just thirty minutes after his Western-style dinner.

The brown hair. The half-closed eyes. The _smile_. Tezuka does not know how the man got into his apartment, but he does not ask.

Fuji Syusuke lives for nothing if not to be mysterious.

Slender hands unfold the piece of paper, though Fuji's eyes never leave Tezuka's face. And then he reads, English flowing from his mouth as if it is his mother tongue. Tezuka understands it, but he says nothing, waiting for Fuji to finish.

'You didn't keep my notes.' Still in English - there is not even a hint of an accent, which is strange. Fuji was proficient in English when Tezuka last saw him, but not _this_ proficient. Perhaps -

'You were overseas.' Tezuka simply says this, sure of his statement's verity. Perhaps he had known this before, but he has never truly thought about it consciously (but sometimes, in the dark of the night, he wonders _why_).

A wider smile. Fuji is pleased. 'Did you miss me?'

Now to get to the point. 'Why did you give me these notes?'

Fuji sighs, but Tezuka is not amused by his dramatist tendencies. 'You wouldn't read the books I sent you, so what was I supposed to do?'

'I don't have time for reading.'

'No time even to appreciate a friend's hard work, I see.'

Spending time with Fuji always does cause Tezuka to lose his calm manner. He frowns more deeply than before, and crosses his arms. 'Don't make this about you, Fuji.'

'Is it not about me?' Fuji looks like he is on the verge of chuckling.

Tezuka is still not amused. 'No.'

'I'll leave you with this then, Kunimitsu.' Fuji holds out the note, but Tezuka's arms stay crossed.

'Please do not call me that.'

'So formal?'

'Fuji.'

Another sigh. 'What can I do?' Fuji turns around and opens the door, but not before bending down and putting the note in Tezuka's shoe.

'Goodbye, Tezuka.'

And he leaves.

Tezuka stands still for a moment before walking over, taking the note, and throwing it out the window in frustration.

_There is no such thing as omnipresence, for it relies on the concept of everywhere. To be everywhere would require the ability to travel in time, for everywhere now is different from everywhere then is different from everywhere later. To be everywhere, all times must be covered for, but time bends to no one's will. _

_Where were you then? Where will you be? _

_Where are you now? _

He brings the last note to Fuji, after looking through his bookcase and finding one book that has sat untouched for too long.

It is not hard to find him. He calls Oishi, who calls Eiji, who calls Kawamura, who calls Inui, who calls Kaidoh, who calls Momoshiro, who calls Echizen, who has Fuji's phone number, work email, and hotel suite number.

It seems that he is the only one who kept in contact with their resident genius.

'What a pleasant surprise, Tezuka!' Fuji's voice does not sound surprised, though at least it is pleasant. 'If you want, you can come in and sit for a while - Yumiko sent me this lovely tea from India - '

'Fuji. What is this?' Tezuka cuts him off, holding out a note, a perfect right triangle that looks very pristine and white, presumably because it has been hidden between the pages of a novella for more than five years.

Fuji has the gall to act bemused. 'Why, I have no idea, Tezuka. Have you read it to find out?'

Tezuka reads it aloud. '_If you go to the airport at half past twenty, the timing will be perfect for a last-minute rescue. The albatross awaits. _It is because you insist on playing your little games that it took me so long to find this!' Tezuka is rediscovering how hard it is to stay composed in the face of Fuji Syusuke. 'You could have just told me that you were leaving for England instead of leaving a book behind on my doorstep - if I had known, I would have went to the airport and - '

' - and what? Wished me farewell?' Fuji sounds bitter, and his blue eyes are revealed to Tezuka for the first time in half a decade. 'You would never have stopped me - Tezuka Kunimitsu is never _selfish_, never wants anything but the best for others - you would never have asked me to stay.'

'You had a future.'

'So did _we_.'

'You _have_ a future.'

A silence, wherein neither of them speak. The cerulean in Fuji's eyes is unyieldingly bright.

'We still might.'

Tezuka realises what Fuji is saying. That does not mean he has to acknowledge it.

'If not, why would you have come here today?'

_That_ is something that is hard to ignore.

'The notes. They had lines from your new book.'

'Oh, did you look them up?' Fuji smiles, still enigmatic, still refusing to give information freely. 'What about it?'

'I read online that you have a book signing tomorrow - ' no denial ' - and one a day after that in Hong Kong.'

'What can I say? My books get around.' Fuji laughs quietly at Tezuka's expression. 'Is there something else you want to tell me?'

'You're leaving for Europe again afterwards.'

'Well, I have to return some time, don't I?' The brunet tilts his head slightly, and with his eyes closed, he looks angelic.

Tezuka knows what Fuji wants him to say, but he cannot. He has med school to be thinking about, and the future - who knows what it'll bring?

But this may be the last chance he will ever get. He has been lucky enough to get a second one, but a third might be pushing it. He puts the note in his pocket, and says so quietly he wonders if Fuji will hear, 'Stay. Please.' His head is looking down - he is brave, but not brave enough for this, this uncertainty about what will happen.

But a petite hand takes his own, and Fuji's smile is brilliant as he brings Tezuka in, closing the door behind him.

_The only place that truly exists is here. _

_-_

_**fin**_


End file.
